


In the Time of the Bells Extra Content

by strangeandsombre (MysteriousStranger)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, In the Time of the Bells universe, extras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3482435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousStranger/pseuds/strangeandsombre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extra content, drabbles, short fic that I've cross-posted to my tumblr here:</p><p>  <a href="http://strangeandsombre.tumblr.com/stories">http://strangeandsombre.tumblr.com/stories</a></p><p>For those who aren't on tumblr or don't check.</p><p>These fics are optional but flesh out the mystery in the main In the Time of the Bells fic. You do not have to read them to follow the story but each one gives you at least one clue that foreshadows future events. </p><p>"Chapter 9a:" <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3478736/chapters/7638389">Rue the Day</a> I posted separately. </p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Locket

She was too jaded to feel guilty.

Besides, the golden colour shone in sunlight and banished all thoughts of guilt from her mind. Each gentle strand was impossibly fine, like gossamer. Carmilla twirled it around her finger, a twisted plait of honey.

Someday, when she was free, she would have it worked into some intricate silken knot, as was the fashion now for the young who asked for a keepsake of their love.

For now, she placed the smooth lock of hair gently in her old filigree locket and wore it around her neck as a reminder of her trespass.

Like all her loves, it had been stolen, secretly.


	2. A Girl and her Horse

Calm Liar snorted loudly.

"Oh come now," said Carmilla mildly, "She’s not that bad."

Calm Liar whinnied and shook his head furiously.

"Well you’re just going to have to learn to like her. Whoa!" Calm Liar had reared unexpectedly. "None of that. Just wait till you find someone and see how you like it when I make fun of her."

Calm Liar pawed the ground and a cloud of dust rose. Carmilla coughed.

"Oh I see, you have a new lady friend who you visit while I’m at rest, eh? So do I take it she’s a… _night_ mare?” Suddenly Carmilla found herself sprawled on the ground, groaning from the hard fall. She got up, dusting herself off crossly.

"Damn you, Liar, I was only in jest."


	3. The Mother We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Carmilla have a conversation. There is a possible spoiler in the last line.

"Oh I heard all about you, Kitty," smirked Will, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. In the bright sun, it could almost have passed for a genuine smile. "The cat that walks by herself. The bigshot rebel, defender of the puny humans. So they let you out of the San early. How was Paris?"

"Well now that I’ve woken up to find myself saddled with a kid brother," said Carmilla mildly, twisting his arm behind his back with no effort at all, "maybe we should try and get along. Hey?"

"Mother will have your hide if you hurt me," Will struggled hopelessly in Carmilla’s iron grip, yelping a little in pain.

"Oh William, I think you do yourself too much honor,” purred Carmilla, in a passable imitation of Mother. But she released his arm with a light push, as though she was already bored with him. He winced at first, rubbing his wrists. Then he cracked his neck in a show of bravado, standing well clear of Carmilla, who observed this act with one eyebrow raised.

"You know things have changed around here, you better get used to being at the bottom of the totem pole, Kitty," said Will, straightening his sleeve cuffs and smoothing down his hair. "Mother is going to be pretty unhappy when she hears -"

"Are you an idiot?" said Carmilla calmly. "You think what happened to me won’t happen to you some day? Your little mamma’s boy act will get tiresome pretty fast. Mother will get bored of you just like -"

"You shut up. You shut up about Mother," Will said furiously, "You don’t know what she’s done for me, you ingrate. She -"

”- saved me!” they both said together, Carmilla in a bored, high pitched imitation of Will’s voice, waving her hands in the air dramatically, before rolling her eyes.

Will was shocked into silence, his mouth dropping open.

"I -" he started lamely, not knowing what to say.

"Oh? What’s that? Cat got your tongue?" said Carmilla idly, observing her nails.

"No, the 19th century called, Kitty, they want their lame jokes back," Will sneered in an attempt to save face. But he quailed before Carmilla’s steady, piercing gaze.

"The thing you’ll do well to remember, Willy boy," Carmilla continued, buffing her nails lightly, "is we both have something in common, something that Mother Dearest doesn’t have."

"What’s that?" said Will’s subdued, sullen voice.

"We were once human."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting nerdy humour: Will is using the expression ‘bottom of the totem pole’ to mean the least important but in actual fact the carvings at the bottom of a totem pole, close to the earth, are probably the most important.


	4. A Letter Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty decides to attend Silas University... or does she?

Dear Father,

I have decided to attend Silas University. Please send my things to Silas House, Room 307, Silas University. It is what you and Grandma Rheinfeldt would have wanted.

Do not worry if you do not hear from me. I am studying hard and having a wonderful time. Do not look for me, because I will be busy being a legitimate student of Silas University, in keeping with our family traditions.

Sincerely,  
Elizabeth Anne Spielsdorf

p.s. Can you please send me Grandma Rheinfeldt’s old jewelry box?


	5. No Birds Sang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla deals with feelings.

How strange it was to feel the heady excitement, still, of Elle’s fingers running through her hair, caressing her. Those fingertips had a secret language all their own. She could hardly breathe just thinking of it. Elle leaning over her in the garden, how she could feel the muscles of her slim thighs under her dress tense around her body. Carmilla had been hard pressed not to run her hands along those smooth limbs as she lay there, dazed at the position she found herself in.

This wordless desire was obstinate and unforgiving. But she couldn’t give in. That way lay a dangerous world. Could there be any harm in remembering though, in dreaming of what could never be? Above it all, Elle’s smile, warm and rich like the hot chocolate they had drunk together. It all jumbled together in some mad, breathless dizzying delight.

Calm Liar was kind and stood still as she leaned her cheek against his broad, comforting body, there in the dark forest. Breathing hard, she held onto the stirrup strap like a lifeline and it jingled loudly against the oppressive silence that smothered the Karnstein ruins. No birds sang. Oh Elle. Dear god, let her be forever safe.

Carmilla’s mind flew back and back, the hours sped back, hungrily snatching for all the fleeting moments and memories of touch and look between them. Moments that could never happen, yet kept happening despite herself. Elle’s lone fingertip gently stroking hers in mute appeal. Elle’s face, smiling shyly, blushing prettily above the rose Carmilla had given her.

The rose that stood alone, an unchancy gift, a whispered contradiction of loving promise and mockery.

She would be punished for it later.


	6. Go Gentle into that Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Carmilla's relationship progresses.

"It’s a big bed," said Laura shyly, clutching the bedclothes closer. "It seems silly for you to sleep on the cold, hard floor, just for politeness sake. It’s - it’s a big bed."

"Not that big," whispered Carmilla hoarsely. She stood, uncertain, looking at Laura, and then back to the threadbare rug by the fireplace.

"If you won’t, I’ll sleep on the floor," said Laura determinedly, pulling her knees up to her chin and staring at Carmilla.

"No - it is not meet that a guest should sleep on the floor," said Carmilla nervously.

Laura found time to wonder at this, for the fleeting glimpses she’d had of Carmilla before were of a slim and haughty girl who didn’t much care for social niceties, much less care where a guest slept. It seemed she’d have to reconsider what kind of a person Carmilla really was.

"Am I making you nervous?" asked Laura gently, eyeing her carefully over the top of her knees. "We’re just two girls, what on earth is there to be frightened of?"

"I’m not frightened," scoffed Carmilla. But she lingered in the same uncertain manner, until finally she leaned her knees against the edge of the bed, on the edge of giving in.

"Then come to bed." Laura flung the covers back and held out her hand expectantly. She smiled secretly to herself as Carmilla slowly took her offered hand, her brow furrowed at some far away thought. Laura knitted their fingers together before anything else could happen, and pulled gently. Carmilla fell as softly as snowfall.

In the golden lamplight, Laura stared hard at Carmilla’s back. Carmilla was lying as close to the edge as possible, reaching to turn off the oil lamp, which faded and flickered into darkness.

In the dark the only sound that could be heard was of their breathing, uneven and expectant. Laura knew Carmilla could hear it too. She wondered what she thought.

She tried not to think too much about what she wanted to happen - and what Carmilla might not want to happen. She knew Carmilla probably thought of her as some naive, innocent girl, and she was not above lying to herself when it suited her. No, she would sleep, and in the night their bodies would speak secretly of hidden wants and by morning, let come what may.

"Carmilla," said Laura in the dark. It was a long time before she answered.

"I think we should rest," said Carmilla in a low, quiet voice, so far away on the other side.

"What, you don’t want to braid each other’s hair? Read novels? Study Ancient Sumerian?" Laura joked sleepily. She suddenly felt fatigued.

She dimly thought that Carmilla turned then to face her, in mute surprise, but she couldn’t be sure. There was a stifled sound as though Carmilla had been going to say something.

By morning, they weren’t where she thought they’d be, on Carmilla’s side of the bed, with her body pressed up close to Carmilla’s back in a gentle embrace. That was how it had always been before, in real life, with Laura wanting too much, too soon, and being shrugged off.

No, instead, they were facing each other, meeting in the middle. Laura’s head rested on Carmilla’s chest, feeling it rise and fall, feeling the firmness of her body through the thin cloth of her nightgown. Laura’s forehead lay tucked against Carmilla’s neck, and Carmilla’s arms were cradling her. How odd that two strangers should fit so well. It was warm, it was delightful. It was something they could never speak of.

Her eyes closed against the early morning light, she sighed deeply in contentment. She felt Carmilla awaken then and give a muffled cry, before she slipped her arms gently away and left.

The bed felt empty without her.


	7. Bread and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and the vampire servant. For all of those who were asking how Laura ate while at the cottage.

There was a clatter of falling logs at the door of the cottage.

"Begging your pardon, young mistress," the servile vampire ducked his head, touching his cap to her, not daring to make eye contact, picking up the firewood hurriedly. 

He was dressed in the manner of a steward, in his appearance at least, but his entire bearing spoke of the peasantry. Touching his cap and tugging his forelock, his head as low as it could go. Mother must be running out of the more noble sort of minion.

Carmilla looked at him haughtily.

"Are you new? Where is the other one? You were looked for yestereve. What became of you?"

"I had an errand to run for the Queen," said the man, a little sullenly, Carmilla thought. He commenced loading up the woodbox. Carmilla frowned at the unnecessary noise, conveying an unspoken anger towards his betters.

"That is nothing to me, it will not serve if I’m to suffer of cold because you could not find the time to do your job. My list of requirements are on the table there. Did you remember my hot chocolate?"

The man nodded, keeping his head low. He left and returned quickly with a basket, full of parcels wrapped in brown paper and string. As he lay the basket down, he risked a glance at her, taking his cloth cap off and wringing it nervously.

"If you please, young mistress, the Queen your royal Mother sends word."

"Well?" said Carmilla abruptly.

"Her Grace requires that you return to court. It is time. It is not meet for a young lady such as yourself to live on the edge of the world in this hellforsaken hut."

"How dare you," Carmilla hissed, incensed by his message. "You know nothing. The Queen knows nothing. You know you enter here by my leave only. Do not test my patience. This is my domain, as humble as it may appear to you. This much my dear Mother understands at least. She knows exactly why I am here."

"Yes, but young mistress, those were not my words, I am but a messenger. Those were the Queen’s -"

"And you no doubt look for any opportunity to raise yourself from the peasant you truly are and always will be. You have the heart and soul of a peasant and will be nothing more, no matter how you ape your betters. Or is it that you are simply too lazy to fetch and carry, the only thing you are good for, and must needs sow discord?"

"You are needed at court," said the man staunchly. "This I have been sent to say."

"And you need a good kick in the breeches, but you see I am being very forebearing."

"My lady, I cannot return such an answer to her Highness."

"The court - don’t make me laugh. You know as well as I do that the court has been slowly dying these fifty years. It is but a shadow of itself. Why would I want to go there?"

"The Queen your Mother offers you freedom of the court, of the lands that surround. You might roam the other realms if you wish it. She knows you have always longed for travel."

At this Carmilla laughed long and loud.

"What care I for faeryland? It is but a gossamer world for silly children, nothing of substance. And my dear Mother, offering me freedom? I have never heard anything so amusing."

"My lady, I beg you -"

"I’ve told her before, so go tell her again. Tell my dear Mother I would rather be buried alive than return to court."

"She will not like -"

"I do not care what she does or doesn’t like. Here I stay like some glorified gatekeeper, thanks to the generosity of her curses." Carmilla threw a log onto the fire crossly. She strode across the room, talking as though she had not had another person to talk to in some time and was bursting with thoughts.

"I dine on bread and water when I cannot get blood, I have not seen champagne in an age. I tend to my roses, even if the modern world is forever encroaching with its roads cutting through all the old forest. It has become harder to hold back the real world from invading, and were I not here, all this land would lie in ruins, even more than now. Where would my dear Mother’s court be then? I am tired. So if I follow the rules I do not see why I should not be left alone. Understood?"

Carmilla turned her fury back to the hapless vampire, but to her surprise, he stood straight and tall and held out a letter, brown with age and sealed with dark red wax.

"Then I am to give you this," said the man, all trace of the peasant gone from his demeanour.

"Who are you?" asked Carmilla curiously. She already felt a little guilty over her snobbery, her uncalled for comments about the peasantry, especially considering her history. Life had just been particularly frustrating that week, and she had been hungry since yesterday.

"Nobody, my lady. A humble servant." There was the hint of a sneer in his voice, but his tones were otherwise entirely respectful. "Please take this, and read it in private. This is the only place I could have given it to you. I have carried it these many years."

Carmilla glanced at it, looking at the seal with interest. With a start, she recognized a crest that she had not seen in a very long time.

"But how can this be? He offered himself up so long ago. What can he have to say to me?" said Carmilla, wonderingly.

"He is the one who first warned you, is he not?" asked the man. "Before the sacrifice?"

"Yes," said Carmilla slowly. "if you could call it a warning. Between him and a certain young lady, I hardly knew what to think." Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

"Then it is best you read his last words." The man turned and left as abruptly as he came.

Alone, Carmilla looked at the last letter of Baron Vordenburg, lying flat in the palm of her hand, weighted down by the heavy wax seal, and shivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way everyone, in case you didn’t know, Victorian Carmilla is canonically a classist who hates the peasantry, so I wanted to write something where she’s a snob but kind of does a double take. Because I find Victorian Carm hilarious in her snobbery. She’s still snarky in the present, obviously, but this is where she starts keeping an open mind - at least enough to hate everyone.


	8. Daughter of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Spielsdorf has a plan.

"But sir, how are we going to get in without drawing attention to ourselves?" asked the soldier, "we can’t just invade the university with a special forces swat team in broad daylight! Even with the Jubilee going on, they’re bound to notice."

"Sir, Bobrowski is right," the sergeant lay a large map flat on the war room table. "If you look at the surrounding areas, there’s nothing there. There’s one tiny village practically run by the university administration. None of the locals are actually local any more. No one will go near the place."

"I’ve accounted for that," said General Spielsdorf, sucking thoughtfully on his cigar and blowing out in a puff of acris smoke. The soldier coughed, waving it away.

"My daughter attends Silas University. I’ll merely be a fond parent, come to visit his darling child. With a few of my friends -"

He took his cigar out, so they could hear the rest of his words clearly, squinting into the distance like Clint Eastwood.

"With guns."


	9. The Vordenburg Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible spoilers ahead! Do not read this chapter if you want to remain unspoiled. :)
> 
> This is part of the letter Carmilla receives from the servant in Bread and Roses. It contains new information/clues which are mostly tangential to the main story and gives you background for the relationship between Carmilla and her Mother - but you may consider them spoilers.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy reading!

To: Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, last of her line  
To be delivered into her own hands by my kinsman Von Vordenburg

My dear young lady,

You must forgive me for taking the liberty to write, especially after what had transpired between us when last we met. If you are now reading the words before you, I fear I must now have been sacrificed to the darkness. 

Below is the letter I penned an age ago, for your benefit my sweet dear. Please read it and think not too badly of me.

——

Let me offer up my sincere apologies. As I am a gentleman, I would not have first accosted a noble young countess such as yourself, without a formal introduction, had I known of your provenance. Too many young ladies swan about the court of the Faerie Queen, my most beautiful lady, that is it difficult to tell who might be a gentlewoman of the highest order, and who a mere slattern dressed up in finery.

In our later tête-à-têtes it came to my attention that a winsome, nubile young lady of your degree should be left in no ignorance of her charms, which far outweigh the charms of your dear Mother (though naturally, she is my prize, my heart and my utmost passion). With how freely the champagne flowed that night at the ball, I assure you, I sought only to compliment your beauty, your intellect, your charm and tell you more of the proud history of your entry into court. Let me suffer your patience by repeating those words here, for I would that the story be clear.

You must not think that I meant anything untoward; after all, my lady the Queen was in attendance the whole night as your chaperone. I cannot think but that my speech was anything but above reproach, despite the bewitching smiles and your fine eyes that you often directed my way, you sly young lady. I know what the attentions of a outwardly demure maiden may secretly mean, though she may not know it herself, I with my many years of virile experience to your young years of relative innocence in the ways of amour.

Though it is whispered about the court - as a friend I feel I must inform you - you know of your reputation outside court in your native demesne, do you not? The Monster of Karnstein Hall’s reputation far precedes her. I know what passionate violence you have wrought, you have wrought in the name of love, and that is something that we vampires can only admire fervently, and most ardently. Though there be blood on your hands, it was a righteous blood.

Your dear Mother has done an admirable thing in raising you so well from a naive child of eighteen to the alluring vampiress you have now become.

But it is only fair to warn you of how this came to be. As much as I live and breathe my lady Queen, you are aware, are you not, that it was she and her agents (and no other) that first slew your dear family of earthly Karnsteins, not the Karnstein villagers, nor the peasants of Silas Field? That she would have you for her own daughter? Out of love, my dear, the kind of tangled love for which she is famed. Do we not always hurt the ones we love?

I confess I was suprised to see you so devoted to her, bringing her morning cup of blood and hot chocolate to her bedside like an obedient child, lashing out at all who would attack her at court. It was admirable. She should be pleased with your loyalty. If you already knew of her role in the death of your family, then I am pleased you have come to terms, considering the abundance of gifts and powers she has bestowed upon you.

You may ask how I know this - well my dear lady and I have no secrets between us, as consorts we are in utmost sympathy. But my desire is that you, her dear daughter, might also have trust in me, and so I would reveal some of the secrets that concern you. Please consider me your very devoted friend and if you would repay me in some special way of your own, I would not be opposed, my dear.

The first is that once, as a much younger woman of the minor gentry (yes, as much as it pains me to admit it, your Dear Mother’s origins come from the minor landed gentry), she happened to arouse the attentions of one Count Karnstein, the young son of the late noble Count Karnstein who first built your fine estate. Sadly, it was not to be borne, for she was not of his class, and as a result, he quickly married a beautiful blonde young noblewoman, your ancestor, famed for her cloud of finespun white gold locks. Poems have been written to her hair I understand. My lady has beauteous tresses, it is true, but only of a dark gold hue, much less uncommon, and certainly never remarked upon.

Devastated by his betrayal, and having already lost her little one in her rage, she fell into a stupor in the forest, after a fall from her horse. It is not known who helped her, who raised her from this dead faint, but she became as you see her now, a lady, a Queen of the highest order. There are rumours that she sold her soul to the darkness she found in the forest, or that she is in league with some higher power which has given her reign over this netherworld realm of faeryland. 

Since then, she has had a particular obsession with golden haired maidens, as if she sought to right the wrongs of that devastating affair from so long ago. It may seem harsh to sacrifice so many innocents but your time as the Monster of Karnstein Hall must have prepared you for this. You understand that the traffic between the human world and ours is a necessary thing, and it takes great patience and yet great hopelessness and helplessness to travel the realms in between? It is thus that the borders may be maintained. The borderlands in between resemble nothing so much as a state of dreaming, and so one is powerless to go back and forth as one wills. But if one perfects the art of holding on to some anchor, it may be done. It is in this way I was able to understand the inner workings of the court and of my darling Lady without having to annoy her with my attentions and questions.

But my dear, it is not my place to speculate on these matters of state - however I think her attentions to you are clear. She may have slain your entire family out of a longstanding act of revenge and twisted love, but she saved you, my dear. And now through the enchantments you have accepted, your lives are forever intertwined. It is best that you accept your fate, for we cannot always choose our family, can we?

For my Queen - she lost something precious, and in you, she has somewhat regained it - a dark child of loyalty, the last of the Karnsteins, for the memory of her lost love.

I would write more but let me stop my pen here for the moment, for I grow ever weary as the bells ring.

With my hand on my heart I remain your devoted,  
Baron Vordenburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baron Vordenburg appears in the original novella as the rumoured 'lover' of Mircalla Karnstein.
> 
> Let me know if you have any questions!


	10. From the Mixed-Up Diaries of Bertha Rheinfeldt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertha Rheinfeldt before she became crazy Grandma Rheinfeldt.

_From the Journal of Bertha Rheinfeldt, circa 1945 - 1947_

Dear Diary,

It’s a new start of Summer Society and I, Bertha Rheinfeldt, have finally knocked off Doris Lawrence - not literally. I mean off her perch. I’ve beaten her (again, not literally) to become the new Queen of Summer Society, by one vote. The Lawrences’ evil empire is finally at an end! Long may the Rheinfeldts reign! Hurrah!

Plus, I just met a total dreamboat, his name is Will from Zeta Omega Mu and oh my gosh, he is so keen! Tall, dark… and dreamy. He’s a bit of a wise guy but I can tell - I’m just going to go crazy over him! He’s absolutely to die for!

Incidentally, what parents would name their child Doris with a surname like Lawrence? Doris Lawrence. That’s just cruelty. Totally squaresville.


	11. From the Mixed-Up Diaries of Bertha Rheinfeldt, Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from Bertha Rheinfeldt's diary.

Dear Diary,

Just met Will’s sister Millarca who has returned from Paris after a long illness. He doesn’t seem to like her much and I can see why. She’s very pretty and delicate but jeepers, what a pill! A big ol’ jerk for such a little lady. I might even go so far as to say she was a complete b**ch. Well I don’t want to swear in my diary in case my grandchildren find it.

She refused to learn my name, saying she’d only have to forget it again. She pretended it was anything other than Bertha, kept calling me all these food related names sarcastically - honestly, by the end of it I could have cheerfully strangled her if she didn’t already look like she’d just climbed out of a coffin. She must have been pretty sick with whatever it was so I guess I can make allowances for a crotchety invalid. Will was pretty uncomfortable, I could tell. He tried to make the best of it, kept trying to change the subject, and we went away soon after. He looks like bad news but he’s such a sweetie.

But, the good news, my dear diary, is red-haired Doris Lawrence is now green-haired after an interesting altercation with a vial of frog spit from the alchemy club. So she will not be leading the Founder’s procession for the Summer Society. We’re going to do something wacky for this Jubilee thing that’s happening - fire arrows into the university pond to honour Artemis! So glad we got permish to do it, it’ll be a blast. Though, I don’t really remember whose idea it was. Anyway, I love archery and I can show off in front of Will. Talk about hunka burnin’ love!

Speaking of dreamboat, I think he’s going to ask me to go steady. He kept asking me what kind of jewelry I liked. So excited!


	12. From the Mixed-Up Diaries of Bertha Rheinfeldt, Pt 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crazy diary of Bertha Rheinfeldt continues.

Dear Diary,

Something is going on that I don’t understand.

I keep asking Will but there seems to be some kind of secret weighing down on him and he won’t say. Something about his family life not being the happiest. His mother is really demanding it seems. Underneath that rough James Dean exterior is just a big ol’ teddy bear, because he really helps his mother out any time she needs him. More than I can say for Millarca. Okay it’s one thing recovering from a long illness but - she is so rude she gets my goat every time, grrr. I thought she was a delicate kind of girl at first, like a beautiful porcelain doll, but the way she dresses is wild, like she wants to be a female James Dean herself, all brood and no bite (but mostly just rude). Any time she takes a seat she has to sprawl all over the place taking more room than she needs. And she’s constantly making fun of my Will, I can’t stand it. Lady or no lady, I’ll deck her if she doesn’t stop.

I’m not sure I mentioned but jeepers creepers his mother is the Dean! I really have to toe the line when Will introduces me. Between the two crazy women in his family I don’t know when Will gets a chance to breathe.

Anyway Will more than makes up for it. He gave me a ring, an old family heirloom. Oh my gosh, keen! It’s simple, but it’s sweet. I almost couldn’t accept it but it was just so - beautiful I felt I had to. I’m so happy that Will and I are going steady. I’m so lucky to have such a sweet fella.

But right after that so many strange things started happening. I feel like I might be coming down with some kind of illness or need spectacles because I keep seeing things that don’t make sense.

One thing that happened was something that spoiled the Summer Society procession at the Jubilee. Unfortunately I can’t blame Doris Lawrence for this even if she is a gigantic red-headed goof. First the Adonis Festival Hunt went haywire earlier this year (which kinda was her fault), now this. It was going well, everyone was in white dresses and rose garlands, just like I arranged, then suddenly this weird gal comes from out of nowhere and tackles Millarca (not that I would blame anyone for this ordinarily but she has been dreadfully sick) and THEY FALL INTO THE POND. The university pond. Just as we started shooting FIRE into the pond. Oh my gosh, everyone was so shocked and upset because it happened so quickly.

So I thought that the two girls were having some kind of catfight because there was all these sounds of snarling and spitting and water splashing but then someone pulls both of them out, only one of them, the weird gal, has disappeared! Can you believe that? So then I motion for everyone to continue the procession and for some reason the procession is much shorter than I remember organising. That was the other weird thing. But I can’t think who could be missing. My memory’s been really fuzzy lately but I’m sure I would notice if any girls were missing. Anyway I’m sure Doris Lawrence is going to blame me for this fiasco, but I don’t see how it was my fault.

Then afterwards Millarca developed a cold and now Will says it’s best if I don’t go over and see him until she recovers.

p.s. The fire arrows were amazing though, very viking-esque being shot into water from a height by girls in white dresses. I hope they let us do it again next time. Everyone loves fire!


	13. The Book of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura talks to her dad on the phone about The Book.

"Dad?" said Laura.

"Laura! I was just about to head out. Thank god, I was getting worried, are you all right? Where’ve you been, love? Do you need more bear spray?"

"I’m - I’m fine dad, I just have a question for you."

"Have you been ill? Are you feeling okay? Do you need more mace?"

"Dad, I’m fine, I don’t need anything, I just - I had a paper due. My lit - paper. Oh."

Laura’s face fell as she realized she’d probably failed and something heavy sunk to the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t easy battling evil and a full course load in the same semester.

Just then, Lafontaine leant over from Betty’s bed and had quickly passed her a note that said:

"L, I handed in your lit paper to Danny, drool and all. You owe me and all. Without the drool."

Perry then helpfully passed over a note that said:

"Kirsch is collecting lecture notes for you. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing."

"Dad to Laura. Dad to Laura. Hellooo Laura. Are you reading me? Did you get your last care package? Did the maple cookies survive? The smarties? The coffee crisp? Did you get those knuckledusters I sent? You haven’t mentioned them."

"Oh, sorry Dad, I zoned out for a moment. Um, Dad, do you remember that German book that I always kept with me when I was a kid, you know, Undine, with the colour pictures?"

"You mean your ‘teddy bear’ book? The one you used to keep under your pillow every night? Yes, I’m still hoping you’ll explain it to your dear old dad some day. I’m not quite sure why you were so attached to it."

"Wait, what? Where did I get the book, dad?"

"I don’t know, maybe you brought it home from school one day, I don’t remember. Maybe it was your gran’s?"

"You mean it wasn’t mom’s? It’s in German."

Laura’s dad was silent, as he often was when she mentioned her mom. She could hear him sigh over the line, which crackled and buzzed as if to fill in the weighted emptiness that had been left by her mother.

"Do I have anything of mom’s? Anything at all?" asked Laura desperately. There was a long pause.

"There was nothing left, love," her dad said finally.


	14. In the Dark, Bury My Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla's thoughts in the coffin.

In the dark, there isn’t much to do.

What a joke, holding onto a locket, thinking about a girl who you never really knew, whose lock of hair you’d stolen, when once she might have loved you. One who you’d thought - well never mind what you thought. You committed your crimes, there was an end to it.

In the dark, Carmilla tried to stay alive, for what reason, she didn’t know anymore. The locket was just something to hold on to, nothing more. It meant nothing. Holding on was as much as she could do.

_Unworthy Karnstein spawn - I hate you and I love you, more than is bearable._

Had Maman really thought about what this would do to her? What it would really do? Had she known? What kind of  _thing_  would do this to someone they claimed to love?

Every time, she could feel it. Someone had plucked a rose - sure, it wasn’t every day, it was rare. But when it happened, and the powers that surrounded the coffin held her in, stopping her from teleporting and fulfilling her enchantments, she could feel more of her soul leaving her. She was breaking up into pieces and they were slowly stealing those pieces away. She would never be whole again.

She could feel the creatures, the dark things, the hidden souls start to enter Karnstein, unafraid, and she was helpless to do anything about it. Her skin was being ripped to shreds, every cut stinging from acid dropping slowly into the wound. Every part of her felt this gnawing ache, a horrible, unbearable pain that seemed so agonising at first until it was replaced by a yet more vicious hurt. It never ended, there was no rest.

Her old home, her only home. It was being invaded, slowly but surely.

Why had Mother not sacrificed her? Could she not have been a little forgiving, in that Jubilee year? Why was she forced to go on living, in this hell on earth? She’d spent so long brooding over this mystery, over how she’d fallen into the trap so easily, but was still no closer to the truth.  _What was she?_

There was something about this stone box she was in, with its ancient carvings. She could feel the power around her. Her life force was slowly leaching out, the longer she was away from Karnstein, she could feel herself going. But it was going so slowly, much slower than what she would have thought.

Maman had threatened to take her to Paris - threatened! When once she would have danced at the chance. Indeed Carmilla had been awake enough to feel the unsteadiness as the coffin had been carried, the rumble of wheels as they drove away. She recalled how the box was lifted, jerkily, to a height, to be loaded on some conveyance, lashed down with rope, bound for France, perhaps.

If it was true she was in Paris - to be this far away - it should have wrecked her far more quickly than it did, if the enchantments were working as they ought to have been. As she had been told they would. Instead it was a slow and steady torture.

But here in the dark, not being distracted by light and vision, she could feel a lot more, in every fibre of her being. As though the enchantments were invisible lines, rough ropes woven around her, she knew somehow that some part of the coffin had never left Karnstein, that she was still there. In some strange sense. And that sense was this weird in between world, between waking and sleep, between real and faerie. Maybe if she could stay there, in that other, uncertain world, she could survive this.

She was learning, it is never about one or the other.  Mother always gave you a choice for you to take, or else. She pretended that was all there was. But there was always a third place, a third choice, that was hidden away in the dark like a timid creature, and had to be coaxed out.

There, in the dark, there was a third choice, and she had to find it.


	15. Thanks for the Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla tries to be a friend to Betty, to no avail.

"Listen, blondie, don’t make this harder than it has to be," said Carmilla, getting impatient, "I’ve explained this to you five times already. Youths! Ugh!"

"Do you even go to this school?" asked Betty curiously, narrowing her eyes. "Are you like, one of those baby-faced older grads who just never got any further in life and you’re hanging round long after graduation searching for your glory days? I mean, it’s totes cool if you are, I just -"

"Just give me the freaking rose, cupcake, and I’ll give you back your memories. Hell on a stick." Carmilla rubbed her forehead hard with her fingers in frustration.

"Hey, well, thanks a bunch, girl, that’s really sweet of you!” Betty laughed a little in confusion. 

“But, um, I’ve got my own memories, I don’t really need yours. I gotta do what I can to hold onto my gentlewoman’s C average, ya know? I don’t really have room in the old noggin for anything else,” Betty explained as she tapped the side of her head. She started looking around her, staring into the distance, and moved away a little bit as if distracted. Carmilla took a step after her.

"Blondie, I’m trying to be a friend here, okay? Though clearly you need a brain, not a friend. Whatever. I’ll get to the point. Blah, blah, blah, your life is in danger, just DO AS I SAY!" Carmilla exploded.

"Whoa, freaky.” Betty side-eyed her. “Anyone ever tell you you’re super weird? Hot, you know, and like, looove the leather pants, girl, but weeeeirrrd. Girl, you need to get out more. I mean, that’s some angsty shit. Sorry but I’m not a therapist." Betty stepped back, looking for a polite way to exit. "Anyway, do you mind, I’m actually -"

"I am going to kill Will." Carmilla muttered to herself. To Betty, she enunciated her words slowly and carefully, fixing her in the eye.

"Hey, you - you ditsy dimwit. Just give me the rose that you took from me, okay, cupcake? You remember? On the road? With the scary car with the lady and the rose thorn? Ring a bell? Ring several bells? If you don’t, there’s a very good chance you’ll be in a lot more trouble than getting less than a gentlewoman’s C. Like, certain death. Got it?" Carmilla sighed as Betty looked blankly at her. "Is there someone I can call who can knock some sense into you? Phone a friend?"

”- ummm meeting a boy here, Jason or Dan or someone - god, I can never tell boys apart sometimes! But he should be here any minute now… aaany minute,” Betty followed on with her thoughts as though Carmilla had not said a word, she was just babbling patiently away, clearly trying to distract her. 

Carmilla groaned and ran her slim fingers through her dark, unruly hair. She looked pained. Betty looked curiously at her woeful expression. She nodded kindly.

"Listen, strange punk chick in black, I’m flattered - I mean I’m sure you’re really lovely and all - dig the whole bad girl James Dean routine -" Betty waved her hand around to take in Carmilla’s all black outfit "- and maybe, maybe if I was a sweet, innocent, adorable friend of mine, it’d work on me, but I don’t really swing that way." Betty shrugged unapologetically, smiling.

"I give up." Carmilla said in a monotone.

"Oh! Okay - well, it was super to meet you, and like, lay off the heavy stuff for a while, huh? Was it from the Alchemy Club? I hear ya. That can really mess you up." Betty said sympathetically, giving Carmilla a conspiratorial wink with a click of her tongue.

Carmilla, speechless, looked as though she wanted to strangle something.


	16. Noctornos Lemures

## “ **Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,**

##  **nocturnos lemures […] rides?** ”

—   

_Horace, Epistles II_

_Do you laugh at dreams, magical terrors, miracles, witches, lemures in the night…_

 

**Campus Security Blotter Blog:**

Graffiti in the original Latin found at the front of Silas House, Silas University, at the start of semester. It took a team of five volunteer students led by Floor Don Lola Perry to remove the offensive intellectual act of vandalism.

Rest assured, if these disturbances do not cease, the perpetrators will be dealt with.


	17. That Damned Elusive Elle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She seeks her here, she seeks her there...  
> Carmilla seeks her everywhere.  
> Is she in heaven or in hell?  
> ...That damned elusive Elle.

How the frilly hell do you find a needle in a haystack, especially if that needle doesn’t even want to be found?

A girl with no name, who you met by chance one night, and who forever changed the course of your life? Someone who, even now, was moving among thousands of other faceless, nameless students, milling below the tower like a lot of little ants.

There had been so many chances to ask her name and Carmilla had taken them all. All of them. She went back and forth in time, searching for those moments. And still, the girl was hiding something. She was scared. She gave name after name that wasn’t the right name.  _Elle. Who are you?_

There was no way Carmilla could ever find her in real life, not stuck here in this god damn tower with nothing to do but brood. There was nothing to do but to wait to be found. Yeah, like that would ever happen. Who would ever want to come find her? Who could possibly be foolish enough to try and breach all of Mother’s enchanted force fields and come to this creepy tower of unimaginable horrors? It just wasn’t going to happen.

Wasn’t that just a kick, to find someone you could really like, literally the girl of your dreams, to find her everywhere in your mind and your memories, only to find out she was so scared of you, a monster who dwelled in darkness, that she wouldn’t even give you her name? Wasn’t that typical of fate to make you fall in love with someone who could only ever despise you, every time she found out your true nature? It happened time and time and time again. Well she wasn’t into chasing after golden-headed dream girls who were scared of her. Carmilla was not made of stone, no matter what the storybooks said.

Enough was enough. It was time to give up.


	18. If We Shadows Have Offended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mircalla Karnstein at the Court of the Faerie Queen.

It had been a while since she’d been back to court.

No matter how hard she scrubbed herself clean, donned her finest gowns, put on her most glittering jewellery, she could still see it.

Blood on her hands.

In her ears there was not the ringing of the bells or the light strings wafting gentle music on the air, as the crescendo rose higher and higher.

Instead there were the screams, always the screams. It was far better to be silent in the stillness of Karnstein than here at court, where the music of the masquerade balls, as the violin strings danced ever higher and ever faster, would always merge into the screams in her head.

—“They say she bathes in the fresh blood of innocents. It is some dark magic. Her skin is so fine and flawless, even for a vampire.”

—“It’s so unnatural - I prefer tastefully seducing young men one at a time to wholesale brutal murder. So vulgar.”

Mother had not ordered, no, she would never have, she was too noble and above the petty thoughts of freshly turned humans - but she made mention so often of the cruel villagers who had murdered Mircalla’s family, who had murdered Mircalla herself. Her words had been very persuasive. Surely it was morally justified - surely revenge was necessary to uphold the balance of justice?

—“She’s a countess, don’t you know?”

—“She _used_ to be a countess. Now she seems nothing more than a base monster, slayer of worthless peasants. Can you imagine?”

—“Have you seen those dark eyes? They are said to be fine but I confess I see nothing of the sort.”

—“And my dear, those hands - like claws. She killed with her bare hands they say. I would not sully my hands in such a way.”

Inwardly she knew that it was an excuse, they were all excuses. She had been angry, furious, enraged beyond grief. She was a monster, had always been a monster, knowing no human limits or moderation.

—“She’s rather pretty, don’t you think? All the young men at court are -“

—“Oh murder will out my darling. She has no taste or moderation, she’ll surely come to a bad end. Bad blood somewhere.”

She killed - sometimes in her insane rage she imagined she killed for fun, that she gloried in it. There was nothing to stay her grief. Only afterwards her troubled mind would tell her that there was something not right about this new life.

—“Hush, I would not speak so loudly. She is still the Queen’s favourite.”

So she tried, at court, to be a normal girl again. To love pretty dresses, to love the dancing and the splendour. To find friends, girls of her own age, to gossip and laugh with. To find a friend.

Every ball, every event at court, it was the same, always. 

Mother had given her a new gown. She had praised the old, plain ring Mircalla wore, one of the last possessions of the Karnsteins left to her, as a sign of Mircalla’s simple elegance and good breeding. She praised it so much that Mircalla always felt compelled to give it to her, out of gratitude. But she hadn’t, she couldn’t, not yet.

Mircalla was quiet, sitting in the corner, observing what went on before her, and hearing what went on behind her. Mother had taken her to be introduced to the new young ladies at court, who had been turned while she’d been away. They had all smiled and said polite, friendly things. She was bewildered by all their new gowns and jewels and she tried to remember what it had been like before, when she was a human girl making friends with some other lonely girl who might have come to visit Karnstein Hall. She said polite, friendly things back - well she hoped they came out friendly.

Soon conversation ended, the girls turned away for refreshments, and Mircalla was once again friends with the wall to her back, that told her tales of what those girls were really thinking. So much for making friends at court. She’d been away for so long, there seemed to be no place for her, not even at Mother’s side.

She would always and forever be branded a monster here, in the graceful, rich beauty of Faerieland. She didn’t belong. Mircalla’s jaw clenched. So be it. She’d tried. She was a Karnstein, with a long and glorious history, no matter how fallen in fortune. Karnstein Hall was where she belonged, though it was nothing more than a burning pile of ash and rubble.

"My charming young lady, are you new at court? Why sit here all by your lonesome? A glittering girl like you should be dancing and breaking all sorts of hearts, eh?" The deep tones of an older man came to her ear before she saw him, a nobleman dressed in finery - overly fine fabrics of a shiny hue. Though he seemed a gentleman, something about his air was leering and off-putting, and Mircalla drew back. But his were the only friendly words she’d received all evening.

"Come my dear young lady, dance with me," the older man smiled his oily smile, holding out a hand which had a shining ring on every finger, "I would be friends with such a delightful treasure."


	19. Sons are Like Birds Flying Upward Over the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Carmilla's 'family' dynamic.

"That’s cold, Will," Carmilla said, as though she was talking about the weather. "Mother tells you to get rid of your girl and you just do it? Without even asking why? Do you even know what she did to her?"

"Don’t make it sound like it was just easy for me. The problem with you Kitty," Will said, attempting to be calm, but slowly failing, "is that you’re a cold-hearted — psychotic — ungrateful — bitch!" He hissed the words out finally, stabbing a pointing finger at her face, invading her personal space, threatening her. Carmilla was unmoved.

"I’m sorry, were you talking about me or Mother Dearest?" Carmilla said mildly, taking a sip of her drink. Blood stained her lips as her mouth released the straw.

"You know how hard it is to raise a vampire? You don’t even care," Will scoffed in disgust. "She chose me. It was hard but she did it, Mother chose me. I’m not going to let her down over some human girl, what do you take me for? B’s going to have to look out for herself, she’s a big girl."

"You know you’re really defensive for someone who’s done the right thing." Carmilla drawled, needling him. "The problem with you, Will, is you’re still just a kid. You been a vampire for what, less than a century? Half? And you still can’t tell when you’re being played."

"Loyalty mean nothing to you, huh Kitty-cat? You don’t have a clue what life was like before Mother took me in. So yeah, I’m grateful to her. Yeah, I’ll do what she tells me. I owe her everything." Carmilla snorted. Will shook his head in disbelief. "You know sometimes you disgust me Carmilla Karnstein."

Carmilla burst out laughing, amused at his fraught drama. She sucked on her straw and dark red blood flooded up to her lips.

"I would say the feeling is mutual, sunshine, but I haven’t wasted any time thinking about it."

Will gave her a withering look, but some kind of uncertainty, some kind of loss lay behind his furious glare.

"Hell knows I tried, when you first came back from Paris, I tried. Even B tried to be nice to you. But there’s nothing inside you but apathy. Can’t make friends with an empty space, now Kitty, can we?"

"Will — we’ll never be friends, you’ve done too much," Carmilla said lazily, "but we’ll never be enemies either. I just don’t care enough. We might be allies, if you could ever figure out that Mother Dearest is on nobody’s side but her own. So if you were chosen, that just means you’re a pawn."

Carmilla sucked on her straw noisily, draining the last of the blood with a gurgle of air.

"Like I was."


	20. From the Mixed-Up Diaries of Bertha Rheinfeldt, Pt 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from Bertha's diary - a strange lab - and what's that on your face?

Dear Diary,

So today I met Will’s mother. Luckily Millarca wasn’t there too, with her stupid, snarky comments, otherwise I would have lost it. She’s been on my case every time she sees me, I know she just wants to drive me away from Will, but I won’t let her.

The Dean is - well she’s a powerful lady. I’m in awe of her. I’m also terrifically scared of her. Silas University has a grand tradition of supporting young ladies’ higher education, we all know that at Summer Society. So it makes sense that the Dean of Students should be this imposing, powerful, queenly sort of woman. But something about her frightens me, and I think she frightens Will too, though he obviously cares for her a lot and is such a good son. Yep, my Will is such a honey, I’m real gone on him.

I think Millie might not get on too well with her mom though, she avoids being in the same room as her. As much as I despise Millie, I can understand why. I kept feeling guilty and anxious every time the Dean looked at me.

Anyway I wanted to make a good impression, for Will’s sake. But I just feel funny about what happened. I didn’t tell Will, I didn’t know how he would take it. I didn’t want to cause any trouble in the family.

The Dean apparently was some big name in biology or psychology or something at one time, and she was still doing important work in that area. That’s what she told me. She said one of her participants had dropped out at the last minute and they really had to run their experiments now to use up their funding, and I fit the bill perfectly, so would I do it? Of course I said yes, for Will’s sake. I don’t usually like that kind of thing, you know, it’s totally squaresville, but the Dean was as nice as an imposing and fearsome mother of your guy can possibly be. Which wasn’t very, but she tried.

Anyway, the first thing that happened was that we went into a lab - it wasn’t really very well lit and I was a bit woozy from the shot they gave me, which was from this new type of needle, shaped kind of like a rose thorn. They said it provided better manual dexterity. At that point I wanted to split but I was in for it now.

The next thing I remember I was in this chair, like a dentist’s chair, and they put this - I couldn’t really see what it was and my memory is kind of hazy because of the drugs, but it was a kind of wet, goopy, jelly like thing with all these suction cups.

They put it on my face. It touched my face all over, and the Dean pushed it around with her hand, so her hand was all over my face, and she wasn’t gentle either. I just lay there and that thing on my face sucked up my pores slowly. It was super weird.

I’m sure she didn’t realise and wouldn’t have scared me for the world, but I was scared. I can admit that now. That really frightened me. I think I’ll have nightmares about it. I don’t blame her - I guess she’s really focused on her research - but jeepers, it really wasn’t a nice thing to do to a gal, not telling her in advance what was going to happen. I wouldn’t even wish this on my worst enemy, not even Doris Lawrence.

After it was over they just let me go without even a cookie! I guess it wasn’t a blood donation but still.

I don’t know if I should tell Will. What could I even say? Honey, your old lady put a weird jellyfish on me and it sucked my face and creeped me out?


	21. You Are My Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and her father, a long time ago.

When Laura was six, she saw her father cry.

"It’s all right, love," he said, in answer to something bad she’d done. "Everything will be all right." He smiled brightly at her, almost too brightly, and messed up her hair. That’s what dads do.

Then he went to his room, alone.

Laura followed timidly after a while, walking slowly, uncertain of what to do. Was she in trouble? The house felt empty, lonely, without her dad downstairs.

Laura leaned her cheek against the wooden frame. The door was ajar, and through the crack she could see her father, sitting on the bed in the slowly descending grey of dusk. He held a handful of cloth, sunshine yellow cloth, her mother’s dress. They had so little left, after the fire.

She couldn’t see her dad’s face at all, it was pressed into his hands, smothered by the cloth. His shoulders were hunched, shaking hard, fighting with not wanting to shake at all. He held on, tight and tense.

He was crying, but he made no sound at all.


End file.
